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My Life: It May Skip Around a Little (Part 1)

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This story contains mature or graphic content.


Sorry if I skip around, but the memories are flooding me.


I’m just going to try to do the best I can and I will be careful of details. I am going to try to input everyday to get things out, but it may be slow … sorry. I will start with this … My biological mother left my father when I was three months old and my sister was three. My father worked in the oil field as a roustabout and so he was gone seven days a week, sometimes sixteen hours a day. My grandparents kept us, and my father kept living in town. We lived in the house that I live in now. It is comfortable to me, and it’s home …


Life was good for the most part. I have small little memories of me in those younger days, but not many. My grandmother was extremely reserved, and if you even came to her with a scraped knee, you were told to, “buckle up and take it.” There were no, “get well kisses for your boo boos.” My grandfather on the other hand was a gentle, laid-back, loving man. We mainly went to him for our hurts and thoughts. He understood more. He never rolled his eyes or looked down his nose at my sister and I. My sister remembered our mother, but I did not. We hadn’t seen her since she left. I knew my grandmother and grandfather loved us each their own ways. My father made a lot of promises that were never kept. His bar trips and bar women were always more important. He was married and divorced seven times by the time I was eight years old.


My grandfather worked in the oil field also and worked a lot of hours, but he was in a supervisory position and could take my sister and me with him into the field. My sister was more, dainty, girly girl, who didn’t wanna get dirty, and I was tomboy all the way. I would love to get down into the pits of oil and come out looking like a half dunked skunk. That was what my papa always called me. lol … Well when I was eight, my mother called and wanted to meet with my sister and I again. My sister was overjoyed and I was too. I really had a mother? What was she like? Was she pretty? Did her hair and eyes match mine? Would we make mud pies together? A little girl who didn’t know her mother would ask herself questions like these. I was nervous when she came to see us the first time, and I got extremely shy. I hid behind my Papa, and my Gramma pulled me from him by my shoulders and told me to stop acting stupid, this was my mother and I needed to visit with her …


I remember her long black hair was parted in the middle. She reminded me of the hippies I’d seen in seventies movies, and I thought she was a movie star. She was skinny and pretty. Her makeup looked really good. That first meeting and visit with her went really good after I overcame my shyness. I started bugging my Gramma and my Papa that I wanted to see her again … they would tell me soon, but it was never soon enough. Finally I asked my father one weekend if I could go stay a weekend with my mother. He said he didn’t care if my grandparents didn’t care. I remember my Gramma saying, “She’s your kid, you decide.” My Papa had this look on his face that I just couldn’t describe to you and I begged and pleaded and used my little girl coyness to finally get him to give in. Papa had said yes. But he also informed me that he didn’t like it knowing her history and that he wanted me back at a certain time and in one piece.


So off I went the next weekend to stay two whole nights with the mother I’d never known … This is where it gets a little bad and I just want to warn you that I won’t go into explicit details, but some are called for … The first night was great. I had met my mother’s new husband, John. He had long hair, a bushy beard, was skinny, and reminded me of the pictures of Jesus that hung up at the church where I was raised. He cooked our food outside, and I thought that was awesome because he actually let me stand over by him to smell the meat cook. He talked to me like I was a grown up and it made me feel important. I thought he was great. That night, he and my mom smoked a joint and I smelled it and thought it smelt funny.


They lived in a travel trailer out in the middle of the woods. So my sister and I were trying to sleep in the little bedroom at the back where the bathroom was and they had a couch that turned into a bed in the front. I got up and walked into the front and asked them what that funny smell was and they said it was kind of like a cigarette, did I want to try? I said, I guess, but Daddy would get upset. They said what happened at their house wasn’t Daddy’s business and how would he find out? So I did it and it made me feel weird, and I went to sleep. I was only eight. Well the next night I woke up in middle of the night, and the trailer was shaking, a lot. I got up and ran to my mom because I was scared that a twister was coming. She and my Step-dad had no clothes on and I saw them. They had porn on also. I got embarrassed and went back to bed, but couldn’t sleep. I was so intrigued. I went home the next day and never said a word to anyone. I was excited, told them how much fun it was. And for weeks all I could talk about was my Mom and John and how fun it was there. That they were nice. So then I started begging to live with my mother, I begged and pleaded until my Dad said yes.


I got to move in and things were good … at least I thought so … John was nice, and my mother stayed in bed A LOT … She was always talking about having this thing called “Paranoid Schizophrenia” and she didn’t take her medicine. One day about a month after I moved in with them, my sister came and said she did too … So here was my sister, and I felt that things were complete. I was in school, had just started the fifth grade. My grades were good, and I kept thinking my mother would soon tell me how good I was doing. John was always making wonderful comments on my school work. I was ecstatic. I was finally making someone happy. I had tried my whole life to bring a smile of pride to my Gramma’s face and had never succeeded. My Dad smiled when I acted goofy, but that was it. My grandfather was the only real smile I had ever seen. It was nice to make someone else happy.


 Part 1 ?Part 2 ?Part 3 ?Part 4

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